cotidiemori

[cotidiemori]

Dream

i was in some house watching television in an upstairs living room with dim lighting and this program about space came on and it showed that there were parallel worlds and then it showed a picture of earth and a close up of the united states with all these weird state names and i felt strange watching it, then the show on TV vanished for a second and i tried to see if there was a book that had anything on this parallel world but i could find nothing. the alternate united states had state names like KFC, Entertainment, World News, Burger King, etc also in a continuation of that same dream i was in a friend’s basement, and i had sex with a random girl while a smartphone was next to us and people were watching through the phone

[cotidiemori]

Split in two, his brain, the commodity of a birthed dimension of artificial solitude. The disappearing fragment of his body as he floated into suspended air-the breath of some toxic being, spitting fumes of chemical laced rainwater into his face. The avoidance to be natural in a stale beacon of undressing yourself and reapplying yourself in certain instances of time. Business men surrounding him in a meeting. The joining of minds to the contrivance of a commoditized brain. A holograph of numbers and figures surrounding themselves, inviting them in. An entry way to a clear path or upright dimension of honesty and thought. He became at one with the trace fragments of memories ejaculated into a residue shit pile of residences and neighborhoods all dwindling with each instance of remembering. He walked down the street with whom that night or heard someone’s name called that he can no longer fathom, but hits his unconscious split open brain at dreary hours in the morning. The implant inside of him, making him recall certain memories or digital fabrications of memories. And the groan of the holographic slime making up a mass of his conscious, waking life. He disappears in a locked hallway, the locked groove of a looping melody wielded into his tired mind. But ever functioning his mind since the implant. A restorative drug giving him hallucinogenic properties that expand his body, his soul, the nature of his being, and he becomes at one with the present dimension of reality. Nevertheless, there are always a group of business men floating around a holograph of the world as he sees it. Posh residential neighborhoods, cheap alcoholic beverages, and stains of every kind of food longing to take his hand and touch him, as he walks unawares in a simulated fragment of his waking but non-waking life at the same time. The only thing being his body falling into a simulacrum of repetition and endless half assed wondering or acquiring of knowledge.

[cotidiemori]

Sclera

An eye recollected at a mirror, gazing into a translucent dream. Still pool of sclera, reflections of white memories drifting into the ether.

Still pool of velvet haze,

Fog enshrouded over the surrounding buildings,

Dilapidated trees,

Overgrown stillness,

Pupils contract in the night sky,

Still pool of nothing,

Quietly reflective, the shadow of a voice in the covered distance,

Floating away in the velvet fog of recollection,

White drops of memories fall into a pool of memories,

Still pool of sclera,

White light floats above you, surrounding the collapse of towering buildings,

You look around for a specter in the lost night,

Wandering around in a pool without a bottom,

A pool without an end,

Still pool of sclera.

[cotidiemori]

Light

Half of my face is obscured in clouds

She said.

Half of my face is wrought with the artificial light

I said.

Half of my arms raise toward an unwavering beacon.

He said.

Part of my face is veiled in your shadows

She said again.

The other part of my face is obstructed by your unwavering light.

I told her.

Your hair is bathed in some semi-conscious energy that drowns me

She said.

My hair is the projection of a semi-conscious part of myself

I told her.

When will you move out of the way?

Of my transpiring gaze,

When will you leave the door unopened?

Letting the light filter in,

When will you lose yourself?

In the clouds of unwavering light?

She asked me.

I walked towards a hole in the wall,

And disappeared into a light leading to nowhere.

[cotidiemori]

dream

A girl I have never met before wants to call me at a certain time to discuss something,

I am inside a house with a football game on, it seems there is a party of people there to watch it,

I email the girl and tell her it’s okay to call me at 7:30

At 7:30 I am in a grocery store by the fruits and deli and I get an email or text from the girl telling me the subject of our conversation is mature and can I take the call.

The text or email is also sent to me telepathically as I sense her voice inside of my mind.

I wake up feeling that the girl really signaled something to me.

[cotidiemori]

Leaves

I.

A woman walked through the park on her way home from work.  The sky was dim and the air was cool. It was the onset of evening. As she walked she could hear the sound of her heels tapping against the concrete road and the wind quietly rapping her ears. Her heels felt a crunch. The woman looked down, lifted up her right heel and noted a leaf that had disintegrated. She continued walking, all the way back to her apartment.

II.

Her apartment was a few blocks from the park. So it just happened that she always passed through the park on her way home. She worked for a modeling agency, the headquarters being a quick walk down the street from where she lived. She mostly modeled at the headquarters, but sometimes would have to travel far away where there were beaches to model summer clothing. Besides traveling, which the agency always paid for, the woman didn’t do much. Occasionally, she would go out with her friends to expensive restaurants where they would review the food and write reviews on a website. All of the woman’s friends were single. The woman did see a guy from time to time, and they had an understanding with each other, but it never progressed further beyond that. Sometimes they would meet on a weekend and go to a movie or spend time in their respective apartments. The woman met all of her friends through the modeling agency; they were always put on the same assignments together and would always end up traveling as a group. When they traveled to beaches, it was always in some small off-the-road town that not a lot of tourists go to. These sort of off the road places always had the best views and the best beaches. That is why the director of the modeling agency always chose these places; he would spend countless hours doing research of the best beaches, cross them off on his list as places not to visit, and reconfigure the places that were never visited, and that is where the modeling group would always end up. Suffice to say, these beaches never had people around them. It would always be the models, the director, and the photographer. The beaches they traveled to when they did travel were always quiet. Sometimes, it was deafeningly quiet and birds could not even be heard. They would find a spot on the beach where the sun would always shine at the appropriate angle, and they would take their respective pictures. They would spend at least two hours a day for a whole week when they travelled to a beach. Since the beaches were always in small towns, the group would often have to find a hotel in the nearest city, which sometimes was a two or three hour drive. Being secluded from everything then always gave them an eerie feeling when photos were being taken. And there were seldom buildings by the beaches; sometimes only small huts, other times abandoned tents alongside of the roads on the way to the beaches. The woman and her model friends always felt a sort of isolation when they went as a group to these distant places for their next jobs. It was a lonely sort of career. The manager once said to his group, commenting on the obscure places they ventured to;

“The most isolated of places, whether far away or close, the ones where no one goes, those are always the most interesting places and that is why I am taking you there; to the places that no one wants to go, but also some of the most beautiful places you could ever find.”

The woman wondered about her job at times, but she always ended up coming to the conclusion that it was the right job for her.

III.

The woman had made plans with one of her coworkers earlier to go out to eat. It would be one of those fancy restaurants they usually went to. What would follow would be a half praised restaurant review on the website and another memory of sharing a meal with her friend. The woman went to the bathroom, took off her clothes and began showering. She liked to shower in cold water. Often times she pretended she was at a faraway beach when she was in the shower, as if she were at one of her modeling jobs. The beach and the woman’s shower were both alike. They were both silent and they were things that other people didn’t know existed. She closed her eyes and listened to her hushed breathing and the sound of the water. She was on a beach and no one else was around. Her friends had gone off somewhere and now it was just her. She was standing on a beach and there was no one else around. She thought that she heard the sounds of birds chirping somewhere off in the distance but she realized it must be herself loudly breathing. She looked at the sky. It was dim and grey. Clouds were swirling around above her and trees swayed quietly off in the dark. She was at the beach and there was no one else around. She opened her eyes and noticed herself in the shower again. The only sound was the dripping water in the drain. She went on with closing her eyes and she was at the beach again. The clouds formed closer to her and the swirling darkness surrounded her. There were never any lights around at these types of beaches. She was alone and no one else was around. She stood there as if she were frozen and felt the sand disintegrate between her toenails. When there was no one else around it felt like everyone was looking for her. When she realized that, she quickly opened her eyes.

IV.

When she had walked home from work earlier that evening the sky had been overcast. The woman worked during the afternoons and evenings, so when she left work it was always dusk. On her way past the park the sun was not visible. The clouds were large and grey and covered a majority of the skyline. The wind was rushing forward. Evening traffic could be heard in the distance, but after the park the only things that remained were residential areas. There was seldom anyone else around in the park at this specific time of the day. The woman was always alone. She heard her footsteps crunch on something on the pavement. She looked down and saw a rust colored leaf split in half. She would go to the beach again a week from now.

V.

She got dressed after getting out of the shower and checked the time. She was due to meet her friend for dinner an hour and a half later. She dressed; made sure she looked decent and made her way to the bus stop. On her way to the bus stop, the beaches came back to the woman. She was always alone and there was no one else around. Nobody came to these places around her, but they were always the most beautiful places. Before her modeling job, she didn’t know places like these even existed; opaque and serene. The places she went would always come back to her at odd hours of the day and paint a vivid picture to her. The memory was there as if it were an alternate reality.

The bus station was not crowded and she sat next to an elderly woman. The elderly woman was mumbling to herself;

“Because you can’t see, it will come back to you.”

She seemed to be missing teeth and her skin was folded over her mouth. Her hair was sticking out and a cane sat next to her. She didn’t seem to notice that the woman was sitting next to her and passed the time on the bus mumbling the same words over and over.

The woman wondered whether the elderly woman also was in a place that was an alternate reality. Perhaps she too had been to places where no one else had been. These places were always the most beautiful.

VI.

The woman sat at the table. Her friend was seated across from her. A plate of shrimp faced them on the table. They sat there and ate the shrimp. They talked about beaches while they ate.

“You think they have shrimp like this at the beaches we go to?”

“Small like that, and this fresh? “

“Yes. There must be.”

“But I’ve never seen any shrimp at the beaches. I’ve never seen anything there.”

“I’ve only seen what I choose to see and it’s that there are no shrimp.”

The taste of shrimp filled the mouth of the woman and she believed she could taste the salt of the sea coloring her teeth. A thought came to her and she returned to the beach again. Her friend sitting across from her now seemed distant.

The faint smell of waves. And the feeling of sand seeping into your feet. The distant aroma of the dusk and the moon. The hidden scent of shrimp floating somewhere in the waves, and the feeling of being the only one around. She was at the beach and there was no longer anyone else around. The woman closed her eyes and heard the distant cry of a bird. The sky was piercing her and there was no one else around. She opened her eyes and returned to the shrimp facing in front of her. They continued talking about the beach.

“What have you seen at these beaches?”

“I’ve never seen anything there. It’s always so quiet. It feels like I am the only around.”

“But I am there, and everyone else is there. We are all there. We are always on assignment.”

“I don’t remember anyone else being there but me.”

“You’ve never seen any shrimp there.”

“I’ve never seen anything there.”

VII.

She went to sleep and thought about the words of her manager; “The most isolated of places, whether far away or close, the ones where no one goes, those are always the most interesting places and that is why I am taking you there; to the places that no one wants to go, but also some of the most beautiful places you could ever find.”

VIII.

In the dream the taste of shrimp entered into her mouth. Fresh shrimp that were floating in the shallow space of the ocean. She remembered that she was by a village but there was no one else around. When she turned her head to the right of where she was standing she could see small thatched huts. There were no fires burning around these huts, they looked as though they had been deserted. She turned her head to the left and could only see decrepit buildings that had been worn away with time. She looked up into the sky and only saw a few stars. The moon was a pale light in the sky and she started to feel the air tense up around her. She coughed and again the taste of shrimp entered into her mouth.  She began to walk towards the thatched huts off to the side of the beach. As she walked she didn’t even hear the silent chirping of insects. She heard nothing and saw nothing, only the slight sways of the palm trees in the wind. As she approached the thatched huts she came upon a memory;

She once had a classmate in primary school that came from some far off place such as this. She remembered the first time she saw him, standing at the door of the classroom with the teacher with a solemn expression on his face. When the teacher introduced him it was hard to understand. He spoke a dialect that was different from the rest of the class. She remembered the solemn expression on his face and that he was quiet. She only saw him for a time, and within the close of that year, she no longer saw him. It was said that the boy’s parents had moved around a lot, trying to escape a high debt that they had gotten themselves into. That they should simply disappear one day should not mean anything unusual. It should just simply mean that they had not escaped from the debt again and simply had to move from one place to the next as if they were nomadic ghosts trying to forget their past.  The thatched hut made her remember, there was something solemn about it that suggested the solemn look of the boy’s face in her primary school.

   I.

She woke to the faint aroma of sea in the distance. But she realized she was inside of her room and as she opened the window the smell of traffic congestion entered her nostrils.

II.

She walked down the hallway of her apartment. Her cellphone rang. She had to go back into her room and answer it. It was from her boss. She picked up the phone.

“Tomorrow, we are going to the beach. New location, we’ve never been there. About a five hour plane ride. Please prepare and have your things ready. We will all meet at the agency at 7 am.”

Her boss was always short. No matter where they were, on a job at the beach or simply in the modeling agency headquarters he was always short with what he said.

·         Her mouth felt dry. After hanging up the phone she went and made breakfast.

·         She passed the time after breakfast preparing her suitcase, she had to pack light.

·         Another thing about her boss; he never exactly stated how long they would be gone. On all of the distant places she went to on a job, it was never certain how long she would be gone. She simply had to pack as it felt necessary.

While packing her suitcase she wondered about the plane ride. She hoped it would be a short five hours. Often times on these sorts of trips, she would sit next to the window and look at the land below. It always looked cloudy from above and she could never believe that people actually lived on the Earth. What she saw was only a tiny speck of land while she would be floating in the air, sitting on an airplane.

III.

The day would continue to pass. When she was finished packing she did nothing. She looked out her window again. Cars were moving fast below her and it appeared to be raining.

IV.

Before she realized, she was asleep. She saw herself on the busy street outside of her apartment. Cars were speeding by next to her and she was simply standing in the median of the road. Some cars had their headlights on, others did not. It was dusk. Some window wipers were also on as it was raining. She walked on the road and heard the sound of her footsteps make dampness. The roads were very busy. They were always very busy. The stores and businesses all seemed to be closed. She could not tell what day it was. Everything was busy, but at the same time everything around her was strangely vacant. When she tried to look into the car windows that were passing by her, she found that nobody was driving inside. She continued walking in the road median as if searching for something, but all she found was a strange vacantness. She heard something crunch from underneath her and stopped walking. When she looked down she had found that a single leaf had disintegrated. The crunch made her stop for a second, but after seeing it was nothing, she continued walking. The moon was full, and along with the speeding cars next to her, she could also make out the sounds of insects all around her. Here in the middle of the city, there were seldom trees, yet somehow she could hear the sounds of nature around her very clearly.

She continued walking in the median, rain falling on her head. She neared what looked like the end of the road. What once were hundreds of buildings and cars driven by no one surrounding her gave way to the beach. Surrounding her now was the beach where she always ended up. A cloudy sky, dusk and the silent movement of the waves. She now remembered that she could feel alone anywhere. She looked up at the sky and couldn’t find the moon. For some strange reason she remembered the words of the old woman on the bus that one day;

“Because you can’t see, it will come back to you.”

The old woman’s voice echoed across the skyline and she remembered the gums folded over her mouth. She was toothless. The voice kept playing across the beach. She could hear it everywhere, projected as if it was being played in a megaphone. Then standing next to her, the solemn boy who had disappeared from her class. He was the same age as when she saw him last and still looking as solemn as ever. He grabbed her hand and led her into the sea mumbling to himself.

“You can be abandoned anywhere.”

He led her by the hands into the sea. She looked up at the clouds one last time and a wave swept over them. They were swallowed by the sea.

V.

She realized that she was sleeping the whole time when she was woken up by the sound of her alarm. The display on the clock read 4:30. She did a quick glance outside of her window; still some early morning cars and the smell of congestion. She prepared to leave.

VI.

When she looked outside of the plane window there were faint clouds covering stretches of the land. She could still see the lights of the cities and the small dots moving below them must be cars. When she saw the dots moving she only thought of the smell of congestion when she opened her room windows in the morning.

She was seated next to her friend who fell asleep, and further down the aisle sat her boss. She wondered what might be going through his mind now. While she continued staring at the clouds she dozed off again.

Sometimes when she slept she lost the identity of herself. Sleep is a strange thing. It makes you lose a sense of who you are and reality is put on hold and takes shape within another reality controlled by the mind. She slept and forgot who she was.

 VII.

She didn’t remember waking up or how long she was asleep for. She coughed sand out of her throat, and startled, realized she was face down on the beach. She looked all around at the evening sky and could see nothing. She tried calling her boss and coworkers on her cellphone but there was no reception. There was no one around her. She stood in the middle of the beach, the sea waves and clouds moving as if speaking in hushed tongues to one another in a language that she could not comprehend. The sky was quiet and the moon was pale. The sad looking remnants of a village stood nearby, but there were no lights anywhere. It appeared she was alone. Walking further around the beach she began to see thousands of dead shrimp washed ashore as if the sea had vomited them onto the land. The smell of the shrimp hit her and she remembered the dreamlike dinner with her friend a few days prior;

The woman sat at the table. Her friend was seated across from her. A plate of shrimp faced them on the table. They sat there and ate the shrimp. They talked about beaches while they ate.

“You think they have shrimp like this at the beaches we go to?”

“Small like that, and this fresh? “

“Yes. There must be.”

“But I’ve never seen any shrimp at the beaches. I’ve never seen anything there.”

“I’ve only seen what I choose to see and it’s that there are no shrimp.”

That dinner with her friend came back to her as if she was recalling some prophecy that she could not understand. The stench of the shrimp remained stronger than ever and she began feeling nauseous. As she was feeling nauseous, she became dizzy and other distant memories came back to her;

The silent dance of the waves and the clouds working in conjunction with one another and the pale glow of the moon. The deserted ghost town of the beach and the sight of the boy who had disappeared. He appeared out of the quiet ocean wave looking the same as she last saw him. He took hushed steps towards her and when he reached her only mumbled to himself. He was in front of her, yet at the same time he was a great distance away. She could not be sure whether she was still sleeping and this was perhaps a continuation of the night’s previous dream, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not wake up. Then the memory of toothless woman on the bus, toothless, her lips folding over her mouth and the faraway look in her eyes;

“Because you can’t see, it will come back to you.”

The voice of the old woman echoed across the sky, and the body of the boy began glowing like the moon.

“You can be abandoned anywhere.” He said. And he calmly took her hand and led her towards the waves. The waves opened up as they drew toward them and she could not begin to understand what was happening. He drew her towards the waves and the sea swallowed the both of them.

 VIII.

The most isolated of places, the places that people try to avoid are also the places that suggest something. They suggest something of the unknown that we cannot begin to understand or to reach. The distant echoes of spirits that have ceased to be call from them, but we cannot understand. These are the places we do not know exist, but they are also the places which may tell us something fundamental about ourselves.

Someone once suggested to me that spirits are stored away inside of nature, they might be contained within a stone, or a tree, or a leaf. In fact, they are all around us. It is when these things of nature are tampered with that they release a preserved spirit that produces a hypnotic power that captures us and takes us to another world. For this is the reason why nature must rest in peace, there are billions of souls stored away from eras passed, they may contain spirits of our loved ones or people we once knew, but they must be left alone to remain in their sleep, if we wake them they will take us away.

_______________

The woman felt a crunch under her heels. She lifted up her shoe and saw a leaf disintegrated onto the pavement. She continued walking.

[cotidiemori]

Deep Blue

She talks to me indiscriminately from somewhere. I listen to her voice absorbing my cubicle. I begin to discern her talking to me. The unknown woman in an office cubicle somewhere. An office cubicle somewhere shaped like a gigantic cube, a relic of years before, decades before. An office cubicle somewhere surrounded by the overgrowth of mile high buildings with lush gardens attached. An office cubicle somewhere surrounded by a controlled sky. A sky that emits rain sometimes but permanent night. A manufactured hue of darkness. An office building somewhere where autonomous vehicles surge past. I never bothered to think about driving. I was born into a time when driving was emerging its death. There was no freedom in driving, only dangerous perils. I grew up at the onset of everything being connected. Everyone now is linked together, controlled by the apparatus of the city. The city is its own character, its own breathing behemoth. She talks and I listen. Sometimes I imagine the scent of her breath, stale but with the hint of mint. She talks and I listen. She seems to be pursuing some recollection of years ago. She is talking to me. Uncertain fragments and hushed sentences. Words that are part of a puzzle of unknowing. She is on the pill. The pill that you swallow whole. The pill that enters your bloodstream and is activated by receptors inside of the brain. The pill that is told to activate whenever the brain wants it. The pill to the Deep Blue. She talks to me about her memories of the Deep Blue. When I am resting my head on my bed she hovers over and looks down on me. Or she takes my hand and we go following the flow of the manufactured darkness into the center of a giant orb like structure emitting its own energy. She talks to me during these times and tells me about the orb shaped structure. The orb shaped structure is the epicenter. The orb shaped structure is an exact replica of every citizen’s brain. The orb like structure contains all of the memories of the citizens of the city. Each city has its own unique name. The collective memories are stored here. You can fly there for access. Only after ingesting the pill of the Deep Blue. The Deep Blue is the name of a fifty year old skyscraper that still stands. It is guarded with passcodes. I have heard it is a place where nano-drugs are sold. I have heard only people that wish to bring back their memories fly to the Deep Blue, to get what once was. Probably what never will be again.  You ingest, you fly there. Your memories return to you, one by one. Flashing in front of you like an old movie. You see pieces of yourself that have been erased. You see past emotions all flowing digitally in front of you and you can interact with them. You can feel them. The past feelings. The memories all seep inside of you after ingesting the pill and some say you are immersed in the orb. You arrive in the orb and never come out. It’s hard to acquire these pills, but the unconscious mind has ways of acquiring them. So she talks to me and I listen. I sit in my cubicle absorbed in virtual simulations of suburbs, reworking them, linking them to the cloud of information that the city shares. Meanwhile, she talks to me from a corner of the room, or from the cubicle next to mine and I understand that she is a figment of a person that has simply gone to acquire her memories. I listen, in the virtual landscape of the suburbs. Her voice pierces the artificial sky while I walk through abandoned streets and pass bus stops with no one waiting at them. I fly above grey colored apartment complexes with no one inside of them but the dead computers of ages ago and her voice filters in. She talks in a labyrinth of poetry, things I do not understand, but are simply memories of her past that she has been longing to acquire. She talks and I listen to abandonment, all alone in world of haze that used to exist, but no longer does. A world reshaped by the brain machine of the metropolis.

[cotidiemori]

The Deep Blue

[cotidiemori]

Deep Blue

I awake in the mid-sentence of a dream. I awake with a woman gazing over my freshly laid down body. I smell the covers of my bed and a woman hovers over me emitting a bright light. I am in my bed and also in a room with a blue oceanic light swirling in the ceiling. The blue current of the ocean color moves every so often.  The woman breathes into me. Her voice punctures my earlobes and seeps inside of my retinas creating varying images of random memories. The artificial sound of the voice, distant and muffled. An artificial perhaps, speaking to me from various angles of the room. Telepathically or not. The garbles of half understood language. Among the garble I hear the Deep Blue. Among the garble I feel her take my hand and lead me away from my bed. I float away and am hovering above the sheets. The blue oceanic light pulsing to an unknown heartbeat. Perhaps it is controlled by the epicenter of the city. She takes my hand, garbles continually and feeds me a pill. She doesn’t ask me to take it but simply hands it to me thinking I will already understand what I am taking. We float outside of a window, our bodies merely exit through the window, and I feel nothing. It makes sense for her to simply float outside of a window if she is an Artificial. But for me under her spell, I suppose I simply can as well. The oceanic blue light swirling on the walls and the ceiling of the room seems to signal at us from we are outside of the room that is connected to something. We float away in nothingness, a vast, blank emptiness facing us with nothing but the sheer blackness of the unknown. In the center of the blackness, probably miles away is another shimmering blue light. Oceanic, probably. We seem to be drifting into the nothingness, connected by the magnetism of the shimmering blue light. It may be the center of something. It may be connected on the outside by the hub of the city. I do not understand if I am dreaming or if I have entered into another pane of existence. A facet of existence that is not understood. Or she the Artificial has simply entered my dream to peel back the layers inside of my consciousness to take me to the center of my self. Or perhaps the outside doesn’t exist after all and this is what is real. I try to listen for the murmur of autonomous cars on the expressways in case I am dreaming but I hear nothing. I can feel the touch of her hand as it holds mine; smooth and firm. I try to get a look at her face, but I only see the glowing aura that surrounds her Artificial body. She feeds me another pill. We continue to drift in the blackness as if we are being sucked up by a giant wave. I try to listen to the autonomous cars on the expressway but they seem to exist outside of where I am at the moment. I try to listen to something but I only hear stillness and I only see the void of nothing and the blue pulsating light, flowing and breathing from somewhere.

[cotidiemori]

Green Room

You situate yourself on top of a structure looking out the window onto snow falling from above you,

It falls down many stories, you are on the twenty ninth floor of a building on a patio looking down below you,

The snow escapes from the sky above you and you watch it fall down very slowly until it is erased from your field of vision and lightly taps the street or the sidewalk,

You can’t hear such a sound because it’s a quiet, miniscule sound like breathing,

But you sit there on the patio on the twenty ninth floor for several hours watching the snow appear and disappear in front of you,

You then imagine jumping from the patio of the twenty ninth floor of a building as a piece of snow,

And how slowly you float, suspended in air, frozen in stillness,

And the area around you is a small globe sized reference point,

And then when you hit the ground you will go back to being a part of that reference point,

You exited the sky surrounded by reference points only to go back as a reference point,

And the cycle will probably continue as numerous pieces of snow could really be the minds of people just falling from the sky and hitting the ground going back as reference points,

And you think about many things on your descent down,

Like how you dreamed once you were a bird and you flew everywhere, or how you could be a piece of hair on someone’s head and how a piece of hair could potentially have consciousness because it was a part of something,

Everything is a part of something,

The pieces of snow probably have consciousness too,

Because they are part of the reference points

That make up the world around you,

And the world definitely has a consciousness,

It’s not just the small part of the world that you see around you,

From the twenty ninth floor in a crowded sprawl of luxury apartment buildings,

But it exists outside of that version of the world,

And there are probably many universes that have consciousness,

These same universes have the same, albeit different versions of luxury apartment buildings with someone sitting on a patio on the twenty ninth floor watching snow or some type of thing similar to snow fall to the sky and hit the ground as a reference point,

You fall asleep in a dream and dream about being a reference point,

You dream about your body being a holograph and melting into a tunnel somewhere,

That is probably really just a dream describing the self of you returning to the tunnel of where it came from,

So you realize later on when you are a gelatinous mound of something in your dream that you really came from your self,

And your self is just a reference point,

Like a particle floating in the air or a car on congested streets that make up the sprawl that contains luxury apartments with twenty nine floors,

Or a piece of hair from a woman’s head that flies away and floats into the ether only to return to the ground or to float inside of a department store or in a subway station,

Either way everything returns to its reference point,

Either way we are all floating away to return as a marker that is beyond us.

I awake in a green room surrounded by thousands of tiny floating lights,

A voice somewhere in the room but unable to be determined enters my earlobe and tells me that I am just a reference point,

And these tiny lights swirling around me are all reference points,

The voice in my ear whispers that I know too much,

And I awake all sweaty in bed.

I go to the bathroom and wash my face.

I arrived at a conclusion I wasn’t supposed to know about.

I will never be inside of that green room again.

So I just watch from the patio of the twenty ninth floor,

Thousands of small snow particles reappear and disappear.

[cotidiemori]

What J. Albert’s Music is Like (And its Relation to Time)

You may try to stop time, but time keeps on moving, overflowing,

You could get a tattoo of the word “time” on your wrist, or on the back of your neck but the circle would still mark itself,

You can age too and the word “time” will be warped and wrinkled,

But time in a future of forward movement, always making things cease to be is erasable,

Time where your aging stops and if you were bald before and you worried about it most of the time,

In a seemingly neurotic fashion,

Because hair loss ceases to be, time erases hair loss,

Because new hair learns how to regrow itself, or the follicles learn how to replenish themselves,

If you take a look in a microscope that future time invents then you can scan the tiny follicles and watch them regrow themselves in a time lapse fashion like how you watch cars pelt through a city through a time lapse and day turns to night, etc. etc.

So hair loss that ceases to be because time ceases to be,

And time of listening to distant music in wireless headphones in the darkness of your living room,

Not thinking only breathing, only dreaming,

This time it’s J. Albert again, the faint voices of dancing slow in a faraway corridor of your mind,

And rumbling through speakers at distances indeterminate,

Fixed points in the back of your mind, marked by the absence of time, if the mind rejuvenates itself during sleep cycles,

Then only a few minutes are spent in hallucinogenic dream states and you feel that time in the dream goes on for a long time,

If you dream for a whole year inside of your dream, but then you wake up and realize it has only, probably been, realistically a few minutes,

But the time is slowed down in the dream, then the faint voices of dance slow again echoing through the corridor of your mind,

Then dance slow playing itself in an empty hotel lobby,

An unmarked room of the empty hotel lobby,

Paralysis of your limbs as you are unable to move stuck on the frozen bed sheets of an empty hotel where time seems to have stopped for years, but probably has only pushed forward because who knows what year it really is in the dream, could be fifty years later, or the present, maybe not,

But you lay there frozen just the same, your mind dormant giving way to the current of the dream, then the ever present jumbled lobby music of J. Albert playing in hushed tones in the background at 2 AM when you look at the alarm clock in the time frozen hotel room in your dream,

Then some girl you have seen before in reality or non-reality enters your room and tries to fondle you while you are laying frozen stuck there, then it becomes arousing and you start to lose yourself into some sexualized dream world, then just as it is about to happen a person without a face comes into the room and asks the girl you have seen before in reality or non-reality to leave,

Then you are stuck wondering what would have happened, then you realize seemingly half-conscious in the dream, as one scene flows into another scene, the way scenes overlap in dreams or non-dreams,

That you have a private room on a boat somewhere with a plasma TV and a white king sized bed and a fireplace, maybe the boat is connected to the empty hotel  perhaps fifty years later or in the present, and you visualize walking to your room on the boat and opening the door, only to find the girl disappeared,

She was going to meet you there right?

Then you realized she left previously before, and frantically try to search for her name in the empty hotel’s check in log but you can’t find her and then remember that some unknown figure came into your hotel room before you realized you had the room on the boat and asked her to leave,

Then she quietly left and teleported to somewhere else,

Maybe to someone else’s’ dream, probably someone that has also seen her in dream or non-dream states of mind,

Then you sort of half-jokingly feel empty in your dream, and that hotel room can never come back to you,

Nor the room on the boat,

She will probably come back to you at some point,

But it’s hard to determine in the dream or non-dream world.

The whole description relating to the dream was like a passage in Murakami’s “The Wind Up Bird Chronicle,”

Or sometimes you feel strangely attached to the main character of the book or strangely related to him, and how you have the same last name

But the character’s last name is just the Japanese version of your last name,

Then you go through this construct of trying to construct things you have lost or things you are searching for inside of your dreams or throughout the airport like hallway at your work, is It really looking for yourself?

Or are you walking as a holograph through the long hallway in a simulated environment?

So you spend twenty four hours, three hundred and sixty five days every year (how time progresses in the non-dream world or the dream-world, we can never be sure) looking for things that may or may not be there,

Because you start to disassociate things around you and it flows in with your sleep cycle and your dream state,

Then you start to realize that this is probably the construct of time,

It becomes just a mystery of relating to your dreams, walking through metaphor like airport size hallways at your work and relating strangely to the main character of “The Wind Up Bird Chronicle,”

All the while J. Albert’s distant muzak filters in through the far away corridor of some empty hotel fifty years later or in the present,

Then you realize that you are part of a construct yourself,

Or that you have become the construct,

And that time always leave imprints,

Because you are time,

Then you start to feel strangely small and dis attached to things

Some times.

[cotidiemori]

Deep Blue

I walked in maze of forgetting and remembering. I arrived at the office early as usual. Powering up the clear monitor with a sway of my fingertips and watching the invisible screen come to life and display my face, entering the password with my subconscious mind. And then I fell into the dull and monotonous routine of entering information into the cloud: the expansion of suburbs, the great intersection of the city with the suburbs, the giant mechanized breathing of a structure in the center of the city that monitors the heartbeat of everything surrounding it. Meanwhile the mysterious woman from a few cubicles away. The phone calls never ending. Part of my work was to transfix myself into the work. The ingestion of pills to make one more complacent to the work. The minuscule switch triggered by a direct, conscious choice to begin work. And then the switch is on, the lights in the office building dim around you and your body is unable to move, but is absorbed into the work. The work, flashes of suburbs envelop around you and you find yourself walking in a once ruin. Separate towns with nothing but cheap family restaurants and overgrown shopping malls; a small park, a two story hospital, a figment of what a town once was. Then the work becomes you, walking into a deserted suburb and feeling like the only person alive. Constructing images of buildings on top of the ruin, three hubs here, entertainment district here. The artificial heartbeat of a suburb that has been dead but is in fruition thanks to the work. A suburb that no longer has been but a suburb that will be. All the while, fastened to your seat in the office building being unable to move, but drifting inside of your consciousness overtaking projects because it is the job, the essence, part of the work. The act of possession. The suburb becomes you. Recollecting at old worn down apartment complexes, the happenstance of a memory lulls you while walking through your consciousness as your remain unconscious inside of an office building while being conscious at the same time. Reconstructing the past to shape the future. You fly inside of an open apartment building. It is necessary for the work. And you notate with your mind, the inner ear of your image receptors turned on capturing everything while you are out under the spell. The hypnosis of work. A tram station here, an entertainment district there. But you walk around the same suburbs inside of yourself, passing abandoned apartment buildings asking that one question. If you had been here sometime before, apart from the work, apart from the job. If you have actually walked here at one point in time. And by the time the realization occurs you wake from the productive pill and you find yourself still fastened into the same chair in the office building. The only words from the outside you have heard which seeped inside while under that haze being The Deep Blue. The Deep Blue and how to find it, how to seek it. The woman in the cubicle knows of the deep blue. I try to ask her, only to find no one near the cubicle I sit in. I exit the office building and board the electric tram. Another day complete and multiple more days onward. A trip inside of myself at night, a trip outside of myself at day. I no longer discern the meaning of reality. Reality has become far too immersed in the void of technology to distinguish living from really living. I breathe in dreams and I wake in dreams. Dreams have covered the city in a haze of manufactured helium. I do not discern what I was like before. So I float on, among the swirling tide of advancement and try to replay non fragmented thoughts I once had but can no longer absolutely recall with some meaning of clarity.

Sliding into the electric tram. The sprawl of the cityscape surrounding me. The pulse of an unknown heartbeat that pulses somewhere inside. The pulse of a light in the center of something, somewhere in time. Surrounded by streets, alleys, buildings, artificial colors, projections floating free form among the middle of traffic. Looking out into the rain and thinking about perceptions of self and what can be constituted as self. Artificials walking past you leaving you with no discernment between what is human and non-human. The thoughts like this plagued me on the inside. In the electric tram again, sitting against the window as it flies by in mists of noises and colors. The faraway sirens of autonomous police cars from some district within the giant behemoth of the city. We pass by two standing buildings with displays of a woman eating 3D printed oranges, but we do not comprehend what, if anything has been lost. So I begin recollecting on my past life only to be plagued with a never ending nightmare of not being able to remember what anything was like before all of this. The sprawl of everything and nothing at the same instance. I look at the immense structure outside the window while the tram speeds by and I cannot see the ending. The structure rises up into the skyline, gardens hanging from multiple levels, the finale extending far beyond the clouds. I breathe and close my eyes again. The woman with the cryptic voice lulls me into a momentary lapse of time. I awake from dozing and am seated inside of my apartment, the screen absorbing me and my field of vision the chat room. The same figure looms over me and reaches a hand out to touch me. I touch the holographic hand and a telepathic sentence reaches deep inside of my mind only to tell me to look for the deep blue.

“Return to the deep blue and ask for a pill.”

“Are you an artificial?” My question slides over to the holographic figure standing before me.

“Everyone is an artificial one way or another.”

My consciousness connected to the cloud I only think of that desolate building extending into the stratosphere, the return of nothing. I contemplate on the meaning of the deep blue. I ask the looming figure.

“The deep blue is a place that shows you your reality or your meaning of it.”

Again I’m lost in the haze between waking, dreaming and remembering. Another day in the office, another day in the tram, the permanent artificial night of the daytime, and the rain soaked night of the evening, the always induced coma of feeling like you could never be inside of something. The permanent questions lingering inside of you. You only want to ask why but you receive more questions than answers.

“I’m trying to find some part of myself, how I was before.”

The figure touches me again, my hand touches it for the second time.

“We are all an artificial in one way or another. Your reality exists in the past of the present, but the new reality exists in the present of the future. We all exist in One realm.”

I lapse into a dream, indistinguishable from a non-dream. I’m reminded of a permanent omniscience that no longer exists within me, but rather outside of me, permeating everything. For now, I have just become one with the hub, the giant interlinked network of time. A permanent reality that erases all perceptions of reality. I exist in a fog.

[cotidiemori]

I walked in a maze of forgetting and remembering. I arrived at the office early as usual. Powering up the clear monitor with a sway of my fingertips and watching the invisible screen come to life and display my face, entering the password with my subconscious mind. And then I fell into the dull and monotonous routine of entering information into the cloud: the expansion of suburbs, the great intersection of the city with the suburbs, the giant mechanized breathing of a structure in the center of the city that monitors the heartbeat of everything surrounding it. Meanwhile the mysterious woman from a few cubicles away. The phone calls never ending. Part of my work was to transfix myself into the work. The ingestion of pills to make one more complacent to the work. The minuscule switch triggered by a direct, conscious choice to begin work. And then the switch is on, the lights in the office building dim around you and your body is unable to move, but is absorbed into the work. The work, flashes of suburbs envelop around you and you find yourself walking in a once ruin. Separate towns with nothing but cheap family restaurants and overgrown shopping malls; a small park, a two story hospital, a figment of what a town once was. Then the work becomes you, walking into a deserted suburb and feeling like the only person alive. Constructing images of buildings on top of the ruin, three hubs here, entertainment district here. The artificial heartbeat of a suburb that has been dead but is in fruition thanks to the work. A suburb that no longer has been but a suburb that will be. All the while, fastened to your seat in the office building being unable to move, but drifting inside of your consciousness overtaking projects because it is the job, the essence, part of the work. The act of possession. The suburb becomes you. Recollecting at old worn down apartment complexes, the happenstance of a memory lulls at you while walking through your consciousness as you remain unconscious inside of an office building while being conscious at the same time. Reconstructing the past to shape the future. You fly inside of an open apartment building. It is necessary for the work. And you notate with your mind, the inner ear of your image receptors turned on capturing everything while you are out under the spell. The hypnosis of work. A tram station here, an entertainment district there. But you walk around the same suburbs inside of yourself, passing abandoned apartment buildings asking that one question. If you had been here sometime before, apart from the work, apart from the job. If you have actually walked here at one point in time. And by the time the realization occurs you wake from the productive pill and you find yourself still fastened into the same chair in the office building. The only words from the outside you have heard which seeped inside while under that haze being The Deep Blue. The Deep Blue and how to find it, how to seek it. The woman in the cubicle knows of the deep blue. I try to ask her, only to find no one near the cubicle I sit in. I exit the office building and board the electric tram. Another day complete and multiple more days onward. A trip inside of myself at night, a trip outside of myself at day. I no longer discern the meaning of reality. Reality has become far too immersed in the void of technology to distinguish living from really living. I breathe in dreams and I wake in dreams. Dreams have covered the city in a haze of manufactured helium. I do not discern what I was like before. So I float on, among the swirling tide of advancement and try to replay non fragmented thoughts I once had but can no longer absolutely recall.

[cotidiemori]

[cotidiemori]

Window

Appearing through the haze of a curtain opened somewhere in time,

A figure emerging from the breathless fog of outside lights,

A hue escapes the open window and exits the open air atmosphere,

Guided by a voice one cannot fathom heard through seminal cracks in perceived time,

Motions running against the current of an archaic language recognized and dying in the instance of artificial time,

The voice of a figure through the cracked arteries of the open window,

The breath escapes a mouth as it looks outside and contemplates the haze wrapped over everything,

Opening a void into unknown environments, the still frame shroud of the contemplated metropolis glowing underneath you,

The valley of pelted rainwater against metal, the kiss of neon on the concrete fragments of buildings’ imaginations,

The haunting exit of a whisper accelerating into the wind at the speed of data being recovered against the backdrop of a one dimensional conceived brain,

A figure looks out into the breath of undisclosed highways where autonomous machines drive themselves into oblivion,

Or the start stop of a mechanized heart as it beats away into the residue of newly formed consciousness,

The gaze of a figure looking at you through a glass window sitting directly across from you,

The touch of fingertips on the glass enclosed screen translates feelings to you directly to your networked nodes,

The haze listens and your body begins to respond,

You become one with the figure reaching out across from you,

The neon dances and swirls around you,

You take a pill and fall asleep,

You become immersed in the deep blue,

The deep blue, a reflection of seminal time and time buried once,

You feel the touch of the figure, your neural networks register the feeling,

You float away amongst the rubble,

Citadels of old time,

Old buildings standing in ruin,

An image of a conjured up memory,

Buildings replaced by artificial projections of buildings,

Immersed inside of a virtual world, you feel the touch of a figure as it registers you,

And you float away lost somewhere inside of your mind,

Or you fathom your mind lost in the velvet fog of a population linked by a network of collected memories,

You forget yourself or ask yourself if you are real,

Lost in a reality where it feels like you are always dreaming,

Perceiving reality as fact and everything outside of reality as fiction,

You begin to contemplate the cycles of sleeping and wonder if not you are just enshrouded inside of the mist of the deep blue,

You remember that hallway,

A corridor in time,

A blue light emanating from the center of some room,

The touch of a figure registers with you,

You feel your brain vibrate,

Your mind receives images,

You upload your memories into the violet haze,

You are being wrapped up in the immersion,

You slowly feel yourself float away and disintegrate,

Amongst the rubble of past cities,

Towards the construction of newly designed systems of living,

You remark at the figure in the window,

You wake up from the pill,

The deep blue is gone from you,

And you still feel your receptors picking up traces of something that has vanished,

And you continue to fall away,

Surrounded by the haze that covers reality and remains anonymous,

Lost inside of a dream,

A dream of reality.

[cotidiemori]

I went to the office building every day as usual. I watched men and women disappear into the adult video store as usual. On my perch of the seventh floor I watched people disintegrate, never to return and tried to imagine them as some of the specters that haunt me from chat rooms after hours. Or I saw myself walking into the adult video store and never returning. I began to work per usual at my desk, typing empty words on empty software, comprehending nothing about what I was doing. I began to suspect I was being followed in some way during the routine-ness of it all. I began to suspect the woman whose cryptic chit chat I heard from a cubicle some distance away, but whom I never saw was perhaps tailing me out of the office and following me back to my apartment. Or perhaps the same woman was not following me but frequented the adult video store near the decrepit office building and had a key for reappearing. I had no way to be certain but I started paying more attention to the lackluster tone of her voice and the way she handled phone calls. I would hear smatterings of words, most of them being unintelligible bits that any passersby could not fathom. Words like missing, gone, and deep blue. Whatever that meant. I paid close attention to these phone conversations and made a note how many times per day they occurred. At most, they would happen at least five times a day with the same anonymity as a ghost talking on a cell phone. I became obsessed with the phone woman and she would often enter my dreams as well. Or I figured I was being tailed by her. Exiting the sleepy office building every night looking over my shoulders, the sound of footsteps only to disappear with a turn of my head. I took the electric tram home every night, surrounded by probably thousands of people. The streets still always looked forlorn no matter where one would go. The permanent hue of night stretched all over the city and the sun seldom came out. The unnatural lights of skyscrapers, entertainment centers and office buildings the only source of light for miles and miles. I suspected the telephone woman was one of the thousands on the tram peering at me from undisclosed location trying to read into my pupils. To know that my pupils were readable from someone maybe one hundred to five feet from me made me all the more uncomfortable and susceptible to being followed. I wondered if the woman could read emotion just by looking into my pupils. I wondered if pupils gave off some scent as to be detectable as being depressed or emotionally numb. Could you tell all of this just from looking into someone’s eyes? I tried not to let the thought overtake me. So I proceeded with utmost caution at work listening to indistinguishable snatches of conversation from a woman to some figure on the other side of the line making notes in my mind of something being missing, something gone into the deep blue. Whatever that could be. And I thought of the far away glistening of light that entered my dream of a long corridor inside of the adult video store. I re-imagined my life inside of my head and tried to bring back out of touch memories but could rescue nothing. I opened my eyes and was facing the decrepit shag carpet color of the office building and I would close my eyes and only see the dark hue of an always midnight sky splattered with city lights from all angles and corners.

[cotidiemori]

What Listening to Tussle is Like

A fragment walks over the glistening pavement,

You fathom if it’s a fragment,

Hearing the silent hue of a dry riverbed glistening in the pavement,

The undercurrent of sun dying the asphalt the color of grass,

Eddying into a still water motion captured residual image,

Coloration of a silent hue,

Mirrors dyed into retinas,

Retinas displayed on dyed mirrors,

Search for the image of the pupil on the mirror,

It glistens something intelligible,

A vantage point from a dried up pupil fastened to a mirror,

The eye blinks, the veins contract,

Flashes of light exit the pupil, the veins die with time and the shade of the light,

A flash of light obscures a face,

A mirror with dilated pupils on it spews out some garbage from its open mouths,

Spewed liquid water pours from the dying pupils and froth regurgitates,

A still life of mud,

A painting of a glass hue,

A sparkled drop of pavement,

A glowing iris in the middle of the mirror,

A disclosed location,

Still echo from a dead mirror in a desert bathroom,

Look into the mirror and discover that retinas can freeze themselves,

Time is frozen in a cornea of rigor mortis that flashes on and off at certain intervals,

A cornea frozen into a pavement where fragments move,

The whirlwind of fragments.